Remembering Mihael
by mynameism
Summary: Kira has lost. The truth has come out. And in the aftermath of the destruction, three very different people reflect on their experiences with the fallen Mihael Keehl.


_A/N: Rated T for one use of bad language, so if you don't like naughty words, turn back now, and keep the purity of your eyes. Roger, Near and Sayu recall the tragic figure of Mihael Keehl after the fall of Kira. _

Remembering Mihael

Roger Ruvie was by no means an emotional man. He was stoic by nature and never without a mask of indifference. It was this firm mask, as well as a deep internal coldness, which kept his circle of friends sparse. Which was just the way he liked it, thank you. He hated the way people always had to involve themselves in the business of others, he hated the fact that their lives revolved around inane gossip, and most of all, he hated the fact that, try as he might, he always ended up hearing all the aforementioned inane gossip. Unfortunately, Mrs Ruvie was not as apathetic as her husband, and she insisted on flapping about with her gas-bag friends, twittering on about whats-her-face's husband, or you-know-who's daughter, shrieking with laughter all the while.

No wonder he spent most of his time locked away in his office. Even the Orphanage was preferable to that _noise_. She had no right to complain at him; she had her affairs to deal with, and he had his. That was the way of the world. And what a crazy world it must be when he treated that establishment like a sanctuary.

Roger had no sympathy for children. In fact, he positively hated them. Snivelling little brats; why, dear God, did they have to be so loud? They were the living, stinking personifications of shouting voices, running noises and bloody knees. The day Mrs Ruvie had told him she was unable to conceive had been the happiest of his life.

With all of that said, there was a slight exception to the rule. Roger Ruvie had a certain, awkward affection for Mello, or Mihael Keehl as he was named in the beginning.

Of course, he had no idea why this was – it was completely illogical to him, but he went with it anyway.

This phenomenon had begun on the very day that the child had arrived in Wammy's House. He had sat across from the boy, still dirty and rugged from the streets; ice blue flashing in a dirt-crusted oval of face, like lost diamonds in the gutter. Roger had welcomed him warmly, as was the policy of the building, and the child had merely glared. He had explained the establishment fully, everything that it stood for, and what he was in for in his time there; Mello had grunted in reply. The fact that he had no questions was endearing for Roger; normally he would have to sit through question after painful question spouting from a small genius mouth. But not with this one. He sat stoic and upright, mouth an unmoving line.

He was given a new name. He accepted it wordlessly. Roger wished him well and hoped he would settle in just fine. This received a curt: "Fuck you." What else could he do but laugh?

The real reason Roger's appreciation for Mello grew was because the boy hated Near so much; a vein of hatred they both shared. Roger hated gossipy people, he hated children, and above all that, he _hated_ Near. The boy had a brilliant mind, of course, but he was arrogant and, although he spoke in a monotone, his voice was still patronising. What business did a child have speaking like that? No business what-so-ever thank you very much. He did not care that the child was a genius; he was an old man, and he dared to say that he had acquired more knowledge over the years than the small prodigy could hope to find in any book.

That was another thing Roger preferred about the second successor, he was undoubtedly _alive_. He broke furniture, he flew into wild rages, he got into fights; he had emotions. Of course, he was volatile and cost the establishment a lot of money, but that was refreshing in comparison to the blank canvas of Near.

The day Mello left was a sad one for more than one reason; L was officially dead, throwing the world into uncertainty, Wammy's House would undoubtedly dissolve into chaos, and he was left to work with Near. He has so hoped the boys would work together, although he knew in his heart of hearts that that would never really happen. He had not been surprised when his favourite had walked out.

Years passed, and he never got word of what was happening in the boy's life.

Roger heard nothing of Mihael until the day he was summoned to identify the body. It had been charred beyond belief, but it was still recognisable. Those unmistakable blue eyes had been open and blank and staring up at him. Roger almost wished he had never seen them, they were so vacant and so unmistakeably _dead_ that it left him feeling a trifle empty inside.

But that was the way things went, he supposed. Some die at eighty, others are snatched away at nineteen. The world is cruel. He had always hoped that Mello would surpass Near and take the title of L, but fate had other plans.

But, at the end of the day, Roger was still able to claim that he had raised the next greatest detective in the world. He did his job. Even if the outcome wasn't desirable.

././.

Near would say that Mello was a person ruled by his passions, a person whose brilliant deductions became clouded by how he was feeling. He would say that he pitied Mello's inability to let go of the human condition. He would also say that they had been rivals in the Orphanage, and that he and his rival had stayed well away from each other.

Part of that would be the truth, a part of it would be a lie.

The first truth was that Mello was ruled by emotions; that much was indisputable. The second truth was that his reasoning abilities were often effected by how he was feeling at the time. The first lie was that he was something to be pitied. Near had never thought about Mello that way. He respected his rival, in a way; Near himself kept all of his anger inside, he swallowed it down and let it fester, but his adversary let it out in a colourful explosion of words. He didn't care that everyone thought he was a loose cannon, he didn't care that everyone backed away from him, he didn't care that everyone kept their distance; he was what he was and that was that.

That attitude was a respectable thing.

Saying that they are opposing forces, continually working against each other was the third truth. Saying that they stayed apart was the fourth and final truth. Mello made his hatred very clear, decorating the albino's arms black with bruises for a reminder of that fact.

But Near liked Mello. Being a genius is a very lonely thing, and it's always wonderful to find someone who is nearly on your level. Near would have worked well with Mello; he is of the opinion that combined they could of surpassed their mentor. They could have been brilliant if the Bomb had accepted a truce; but his emotions led him away. Those emotions robbed Near of the potential to make his first friend.

Fate, obviously, had other plans.

In the end, Mello did assist him in the Kira case. But at the ultimate price.

Near never used to like sweets, but he eats chocolate now in memory of what could have been.

././.

Sayu is often consumed by her thoughts. But there is nothing much else to do when you are trapped inside of your own body.

She watches people mill about the living room from her wheelchair. Everything is swathed in black. Today they will finally bury Light Yagami. The party mainly consists of distant family members and old friends. Matsuda stands shamefacedly in the corner, awkward, eyes trained on the ground, probably feeling like he shouldn't be there; he is the only one of the Task Force to show up.

Figures adorned in black float by. Small talk is exchanged. Her mother sits weeping beside her. There are whispers in the crowd, whispers of condolence. What a loss. Such a great man. Such a waste of life. And blah blah blah.

If she could move, Sayu would stand and shriek at them. _Fools_. But she cannot, and the frustration of it all cramps her chest and makes her eyes sting.

Light Yagami was not a great man. He was far from it. As he lay pretty and prim in his coffin, his hands were stained with the blood of thousands. Light was a liar, he was a deceiver, he was a snake in the grass. He had been _Kira_. He had been the anonymous figure-head of a dynasty of fear. He claimed to love justice while he disregarded it for his own gain. Kira, _her brother_, had brought nations to their knees, _her brother_ had executed those he judged to be unworthy, and those who had done nothing wrong but had been in his way.

Her perfect big brother had done all of this. She felt sick to her stomach.

Her mother let out a loud sob, and one of Sayu's cousins rushed to attend her. Sayu's dark eyes came to rest on Sachiko. Poor soul. She was a broken woman now; stripped of husband and son and, in essence, daughter. She had lost everything in this battle with Kira, the battle with _Light Yagami._

The truth rose like bile in her throat and she wanted to spit it out and let her mother know the facts about her perfect son. But she could not. Her lips remained pressed into a thin and emotion-less line. Even if she had been able to talk, would she have done it? She knew what the truth could do. The truth had made her like the way she was now. If _he_ hadn't-

A pain in her chest interrupted her thoughts. _Mello_. She owed everything to him.

He had saved her. Down in that dank cell he had saved her. She was covered with the wondering hands of strangers, thick, hot breath on her neck and she had given up hope. But then, they had dropped her, half undressed,onto the cold, bleached floor and retreated. There he stood. She had been saved from shame by her guardian angel.

_Mello_. What a wonderfully strange name for a wonderfully strange person. Sleek blonde hair, soft pale skin, striking eyes and hungry kisses. He had taken her to his room. He had ravaged her, and he had told her everything. Her mind had rejected it at first, but he had a compelling argument. And he had proof. And the look, the bare honesty, in his eyes had overwhelmed her.

She swelled with the knowledge. She was fit to burst with it.

When her father had come to her, she had banged on the glass that separated them and had screamed the truth to him. But he had not heard her. And now he never would. Had Light killed him too? Her stomach twisted with a poisonous hatred.

No one had ever heard her say the truth. The sheer weight of it had made her catatonic. It made her heart bitter. But she was thankful for it.

She was thankful to Mello, who had led her from the darkness of ignorance and deception.

She wondered where he was now. Where in the world? Where his eyes still sparkling like the ocean caught in the light? Was his smile still thin and secret? Was his skin still soft and warm and comforting? Did his lips still taste of chocolate? Did he ever think of her any more, like she thought of him every day?

Would she ever meet him again?

She hoped to God she would. But until then, she would keep him locked inside her secret self. Goodbye may have seemed like it was forever, farewell like it was the end. But in her heart was his memory and there he'd always be.

././.

_A/N: Well, there we go. I'm sorry, I had to add a little MelloXSayu, I just can't help myself. And I apologise for the shortness of Near's part, I wanted to write something for him, but I completely blanked when it came down to it. Hopefully this will be satisfactory. Please review! _


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